“No.”
He shook his head. “Brown turtleneck, brown
tweed slacks, suede boots, hair in a bun. I swear, Grace, you make
an effort to blend in the woodwork. It’s not that your clothing
isn’t classic, but black, gray, brown and dark blue is all you ever
wear.”
“I’ve said it before, but I’ll remind you
again, that I work in a conservative office, we present a
professional image a—”
“Bullshit. That Rosa...Dunkle, isn’t it? Last
time I dropped in on you for lunch, she was looking hot.”
“You would notice that.” Grace laughed. Rosa
was twenty-two and yes, unlike herself, Bernard Farley and
fifty-year-old Helen Brown, Rosa loved vivid colors and rather
provocative styles that caused some eye rolling from the bosses.
“Rosa is young. She hasn’t been in the profession v—”
“Should I pull out the pictures of you in
college? Grace, you are an attractive woman, but sometimes I think
Dad’s dullness rubbed too deep on you.”
“I like my clothing.” She turned and took
down a cup and filled it.
“You’ve got pretty brown eyes, bronze
actually, quite beautiful.”
“Thanks.” She turned and sipped while
watching him over the mug. “You’re the only person who ever
critiques what I wear, or cares.”
“If you’d leave the office before nine, and
get out on weekends and meet normal people...”
“This isn’t about people, Seth. It’s about
men. You’re still sore at me for turning down a blind date with
half your buddies.”
“They were cool dudes, Grace. Professional
men. You don’t trust me.”
“That’s right, I don’t.” She laughed and
walked over to sit opposite him, absently rubbing the cup with her
thumb and taking in his wildly mussed hair. “I still remember going
along on that summer trip to Maine.”
“Oh that.” He snorted. “You still bent over
some ordinary fun?”
“Renting a little house with eight of your
friends who ran around nude and drank beer, had orgies.”
He crowed with laughter. “They did not! One
time you walked in on someone—”
“More than once, and it was a loud
free-for-all most of the time.”
“So you sneaked out, and did what? Took walks
and hid out at shops.”
“It’s not my speed, Seth. I’ve just never
been a party girl, and I don’t like blind dates.”
“Grace if you end up marrying someone like
yourself—if you ever get married—you’re going to die young of
complete boredom. You’re probably the oldest living virgin.”
“I’m not—that pure.”
He blinked and grinned. “Oh, well there is
hope then.”
She gave up. “I don’t have time to date.” She
sighed. “Actually I don’t have time to do this favor either, so
you’d better give me the materials. It’s raining like crazy out
there, and the thoughts of hanging out in a smoky, noisy bar
tonight...”
He got up and walked to the coffee table,
handing her two manila folders. “These are the photos, and you’ll
find the watch in there. Just push the little stem on the side, as
if you were checking the time. Try and get them kissing or
whatever...”
Grace looked through the batch, seeing Grover
Winestead; fifty, balding, close beard, expensive suit. Several
shots Seth got of Winestead at his car, standing and chatting with
a woman. Her photos had Brenda Resnic written on the bottom. She
was young, looked professional in a chic suit and had an upscale
hairdo. There were photos of them sitting in a café; two in a
restaurant, the usual entering and exit stuff—and some far away
shots of them in a public park.
“So, his wife wants the physical contact
proof?”
“Yeah. I’ve got two there of them entering
the hotel, but that’s not good enough since they are business
associates.”
Grace put them back. “I haven’t been in a bar
since I was twenty, and had to go and find you for that nutty
girlfriend you had.”
“I remember, I was hiding out from her.” He
shuddered and laughed. “That’s another thing about your clothing,
Grace. If it were a sports bar, but you can’t stick out. He knows
someone is tailing him, and you in those tweeds and sweaters are
going to draw attention. People dress hip or—”
“I’m not going to buy a wardrobe just for a
few hours at a bar.”
“Fine, but I’m sure you could afford it. You
never spend any money.”
“Picking at me is going to lose you this
favor.” She tapped him with the packet. “I’ll find some jeans or
something. I just hope it doesn’t take all night to get the
pictures. I’ve got laundry to do and—”
“Yeah, yeah, a couple of IRS forms to read
for entertainment. Ouch.” He laughed and ducked as she smacked him
with the packet again. They went to the living room and he handed
her the camera case.
“What’s this for?”
“I thought if they left you could sit in the
car and—”
“Oh, now, Seth. I’m not tailing them to a
hotel.”
“Okay. But take it, just in case.”
She took it and put on her coat. Eyeing where
he sat on the sofa, she straightened her lapels and put the camera
case strap over her shoulder before getting her umbrella. “I’ll try
and get the shots you need.”
He flashed her a white grin and winked. “I’ll
love you forever if you do.”
Snorting she returned, “You should, this is
not my idea of intrigue and mystery, trailing cheating spouses and
spying on people.”
“These little run-of-the-mill cases are my
bread and butter. Once in a blue moon, I get something with teeth,
real movie of the week stuff. But with the foot out of commission,
I’m going to need that bread and butter until something else comes
along.”
“I know.”
“I should have taken you along, when I was
hired by that investment banker to investigate his son in law.
Shit, the guy had a Swiss account, a villa in Rome, and two other
wives.”
“No thanks. That’s exactly why I don’t watch
TV and movies.”
“Well, Grace, they don’t make films about
accounting... of course the dude was embezzling so—”
“I’ll call you.” She laughed, opening the
door, saying over her shoulder, “You need to hire a cleaning woman,
an old one that you’ll seduce instead of letting her do what she
came here for.”
He was chuckling as she closed the door,
calling out, “But just think of how shocking it’s going to be when
I reform someday...”
Chapter Two
Instead of grumbling about traffic, Grace
replayed his good-natured teasing in her head. She’d also surprised
herself by admitting she had once had a lover. But. Dammit. Seth’s
perception of her as a stick-in-the-mud, his comments on her
clothing and life—well, Seth was a popular guy with a variety of
hip friends, and coming from him, she knew it was an honest
observation when he compared her to other females her age.
The smack of the wipers grew irritating. She
turned up the radio and easy listening filled the car, what Seth
called elevator music whenever he thumbed through her CD’s. He’d
become the big brother her last year of college, coming to see her
and deepen the bond after their father died. Grace knew that when
he was pushing—trying to help her get dates, it was because he
thought she was shy or introverted. He used to call her style of
dress a cross between anchorwoman and first lady. In school, she
had been in the math club, the chess club, and studying was
something her father ingrained in her...it just happened that she
turned out a conservative woman, more so when she’d thought her
future was in politics.
Ha! She could laugh now at the mind-spinning,
three whole weeks, she’d worked as an intern at the Governor’s
office. The stress, pace, and constant media scrutiny pretty much
showed her how un-political she was. She had gotten caught up in an
affair too—that was a big mistake—simply because she’d felt
overwhelmed and out of place.
From that point on, Grace played it safe. She
admitted it, and given that Seth’s lifestyle and women often threw
his life into chaos, it proved her point exactly, that people
should learn from their mistakes.
At her apartment, Grace dug through the trunk
for a pair of jeans. There wasn’t one blouse to go with them in her
wardrobe. The silks and cotton blouses were suit-type, nary a young
or hip anything, since she automatically ordered the same clothing
every year from the same stores.
She finally pulled down a green turtleneck
and tossed it on the bed, finding her green suede high-heeled
boots. Normally the outfit included a pair of buff trousers and a
blazer, but for tonight, she’d pair it with the Levis.
After showering and looking at the clock, she
started to put her hair up, then remembered where she was going and
left it down. Grimacing she realized she would have to leave off
her glasses. She had no makeup to put on.
So much for blending in.
In the jeans, turtleneck and boots, she
spritzed on perfume, collected her purse, and the camera, and stood
looking at the photos a long time before laying them on the
dresser. She was sure what she was doing was illegal. She was not
licensed to do PI work.
Grace left and dashed her to her dark blue
Ford, a car she’d had since her college days. She drove to the Red
Room. Headlights cutting a swath through the night. The rain had
stopped, but the aftermath bathed the buildings and road with a
crystal sheen that glowed under the city lights.
She ended up parking two lots away, and
nearly breaking her ankle to avoid water and slippery leaves. The
conspicuous red door with brass handles was at last before her eyes
and as soon as she opened it, the loud dance beat blared. The swirl
of lights made her blink in the dark foyer. A middle-aged man
dressed in a wild purple shirt and leather pants checked her
ID.
What the hell kind of place had Seth sent her
to?
“The bar is this way...”
She had been walking fairly close to the man
and spied tables around the dance floor with a clear view of the
bar. She did not want to sit at the bar and get hit on. Grace said,
“I think I’ll find a table.”
“What’s your poison?”
“Screwdriver,” she told him, seeing his look
of amusement, apparently because she’d chosen something less exotic
than the list she could see by the bar. Sex on the beach? She
really was getting old.
“Coming up.” He spoke to a waitress in a mini
skirt and white halter.
Grace found a table, and slid the spare chair
away. Hopefully the message was clear, she was alone, and wanted to
stay that way.
She took off her coat, turned the watch
around after adjusting the band. It looked like a man’s sport
watch. It apparently didn’t need a flash. She gazed at the bar
while her ears tried to adjust to the music, laughter, and voices,
and her eyes to the darkness. She had brought her cell phone in her
purse, since Seth never called the apartment number anyway.
She was ready to leave already.
After the drink came, she sipped, grimaced,
and glanced around in a casual way, seeing the women in heavy
make-up with low-slung slacks, jeans and skirts, tummy tops
exposing navel rings and tattoos. The males of varying ages seemed
to be wearing jeans, tight shirts or loud colors, and some
outrageously done up women made her wonder how a person
distinguished a hooker or call girl from an ordinary chick on the
prowl?
Having no desire to get drunk, or even high,
she was bored in an hour. She watched the dancers grind, slink, and
rub. Her elbow had to have bruises from the clusters of people
laughing, talking and moving around the tables—and nearly falling
over hers several times.
It was ten before she saw Grover Winestead.
Lucky for her, he had on something relatively different, an
expensive Italian suit. It was another half-hour before his
mistress showed up and sat at the bar. They began to get friendly
after a few drinks, so Grace walked up to the bar, pretending to
check her watch in the brighter light, and snapped a few hot shots
with old Grover French-kissing the woman, his hand half way up her
short red skirt.
Grace used the restroom and realized the
couple had moved to a table. She adjusted her coat on the back of
the chair and snapped another three photos of them kissing, feeling
each other up.
No wonder Seth had no steady girlfriend, if
this was what he saw all the time. He doubtless believed fidelity
an impossible vow. Enough of this stuff could make a person
completely cynical.
With her head aching and nearly blind from
the lights, Grace sat awhile longer before deciding she would go
outside, call Seth, and see if the shots she had would satisfy him.
She wanted a bath, silence, a warm bed, and several strong headache
pills.
It wasn’t that chilly out, actually. She
stood outside the door amid others who were calling, smoking,
making out. She drew in a deep breath, smelling the damp, wet
leaves and fall air. Grace leaned against the building and called
her brother, absently watching and looking at people around
her.
“I got about six good ones.”
“Cool. What are they doing now?”
“Making out at a table. It’s pretty dark in
there.”
“The shots will still turn out. Will you get
a few of them leaving together?”
“Seth. This place is open until two, I’m
not—”
“Yeah, but they’ll leave soon. Trust me.
They’ll go to a hotel. Just a shot of them going to his car?”
“I parked too far away, and the big camera is
in my car. It’s not like I can stand here and take them.”
“Just use the watch cam. Thanks.” He hung
up.
She blew out a breath and wished she had a
cup of coffee. Yawning and pushing back her irritating hair, Grace
wondered how to appear inconspicuous standing outside doing
nothing.
“Cigarette?”
Grace glanced at a young man with facial
piercing and half his head shaved and tattooed. “Thanks.” Praying
she didn’t go into a coughing fit, and that it wasn’t loaded with
weed, she took it, and then accepted a light from his lighter that
looked like a skull. She smiled at him. It at least gave her
something to do.